Yo Ho, Yo Ho, A Pirate's Life For Me
by oh-sucks
Summary: "The last clear thing that came to his mind was that it was supposed to be three and a half in the morning and he was at the pirate themed bar next to where he parked his car, drinking all the alcohol that was achievable and trying hard not to flirt with the bartender characterized as a pirate – with an eye patch and a fake hook in one hand – behind the wooden counter."


**CHAPTER ONE – Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!**

"_Where am I? Who am I? What happened? What is this light that insists on not leaving my eyelids?_" Within seconds he got the answer to _almost _everything, because the third one contained a blackout at the end: He woke up. A few seconds and more revelation came to him: He's not alone.

He made sense of his body, noticing the pair of arms hugging him tightly and a slight warm breath on his neck. He opened his eyes, accustoming them to the thin light trying to pass through the thick dark windows of the room. He tried to extricate himself without waking his owner in search of a known face and some sort of explanation about the last hours that were still missing pieces and blurry in the parts that he could remember. The last clear thing that came to his mind was that it was supposed to be three and a half in the morning and he was at the pirate themed bar next to where he parked his car, drinking all the alcohol that was achievable and trying hard not to flirt with the bartender characterized as a pirate – with an eye patch and a fake hook in one hand – behind the wooden counter.

But this light… This light can only mean that the day began – and a long time ago. He turned slowly, trying to see the face of who hugged him. The boy was in a deep asleep, the shadow of a smile on his lips – should be dreaming of something very good – and didn't seem to bother with the slow unhug received nor the abandonment of his company in the king size bed. He sat on the edge of the bed to better recognize such an infant face using only the low light passing through the slats of the window. He seemed to have less than twenty years and have had a very wild night – because of the size of the bruises on his fine neck – besides not being even slightly recognizable thus sleeping so quietly that made him envious. For years he didn't know what sleeping peacefully was; his mind didn't give him permission to do so.

He scratched his back, groaning in pain when hit one of the deeps nail marks embedded in his milk pale skin. Only then he realized that he was naked. Searching the ground to meet his red boxers – some said that they were the exact same color as his hair – he stepped on something weird. He reached out to pick up the piece and was surprised to see it was a pirate eye patch. Gerard immediately recognized the face behind him that was until now not recognizable. He turned again, looking more closely at the thin layer of smeared makeup on the boy's right eye – remnants of makeup that was required to use along with the pirate costume, as he said earlier.

"_Who wears the costume receives a bonus at the end of the month_." – Gerard recalled the broken whispered voice of the boy behind the counter hours before. The memories returned too fast to his conscious, giving him a horrible headache. The flashes went through his mind. The bar empties. The boy removing the black hat he was wearing and putting on the counter beside him, telling him he had to leave or the security would kick him to the street, then arguing with someone who appeared to be his boss and, finally, difficultly carrying him – because he was so drunk he hardly knew which leg was right and what was left, even less how to command them to walk straight – through the streets to a house at the end of what seemed like two blocks.

He also remembered the hours he spent at the edge of the toilet returning all alcohol ingested with the same boy at his side all the time, helping to hold up the edges of the toilet. And the same boy undressing him and putting him in a chair inside the shower under pouring freezing water. The boy wiping him and putting him on the bed that he was now sitting. Waking up in the middle of the night still half dazed and desperately looking for water because his throat was burning, dry as the desert, and receive such in a plastic bottle with nozzle, drying it in seconds and falling asleep again soon. A third wake up, seeing the pirate finally undressing and assaulting him before he could even remove the eye patch, delicately plucked later by skilled hands.

He recalled his sweet lips, which soon became hungry, corresponding desires. He recalled suffocated sighs, moans of pleasure, the desperate hair-pulling and back scratching. Gerard reminded marking the white skin of his neck and feeling the softness of his short black hair between his fingers. He remembered feeling the little one embracing him and slowly falling asleep again with his breathing – slowing up slowly – under his neck.

He grabbed his left arm tightly, nails digging as deep as they could – crazy thing he got when checked out of the psychologist clinic for the first time – trying in every way to remain calm. The guilt he felt, like pressure his chest, for having abused of someone who only tried to help him took possession of his thoughts. Gerard quickly returned to look for his clothes scattered on the floor of the room in the dark, trying to discern which ones were his and which ones were part of the uniform of the poor who was still sleeping quietly.

He found his underwear, wearing it immediately, followed by his tight pants, cursing himself forever for buying clothes so glued, hindering his desperation to get dressed and leave soon. Was guided by the pieces that smelled more of whiskey he had taken the night before the nightmare that he now lived and found his shirt from _David Bowie_ turned upside down, next to his white socks and her combat boots that went halfway to his leg on the floor. Inadvertently kicked the case hidden in the shadows of the room while trying to stick the legs in the boots, making it slowly slip and hit the floor, vibrating the strings of the instrument, waking the pirate and freezing Gerard in his place.

– What the… – He blinked several times, sitting up in bed. – Watch my guitar, flash boy.

– I'm sorry. – He could feel his cheeks burning with shame.

His head throbbed when standing up quickly, having finished putting on the shoes and lifting the case again. The boy got out of bed, easily finding the underwear and putting it on, soon after opening the window that blinded Gerard for several seconds. He heard him mutter anything indistinguishable, leaving the room and returning soon after with an aspirin and another bottle of water, which Gerard drained as if his life depended on it. He closed his eyes, wishing everything was nothing more than a dream, remembering everything that happened in the last hours.

.

**[Flashback on]**

_– It's over. – Murmured low, seeing the tears flow on the redhead's face._

_– You said you loved me… – Gerard said between sobs. – You said we would spend our lives together._

_His heart burned with pain, pain more intense than the nails digging into his arms. Chester was packing and he just stood there staring, leaving the love of his life go away. He did nothing to stop it. He didn't want to be with someone who didn't want to be with him. He tried to compose himself enough to go to work, since it was already late and dead tired for arguing throughout the night with his "husband"._

_– You're sick. I can't stand all this madness, all these nightmares and the constant fear of losing you to yourself. I'm leaving, it'll be better that way, I don't want in my conscience that I couldn't save you. – Was the only explanation he received._

_He dressed in a hurry, not caring about the messed hair nor the fillets of fresh blood dripping on his arm, driving insane through the streets toward the music store where he worked for years, only to discover that his "bad day" had just begun._

_– The boss wants to see you. – Ray, a longtime friend, gave him the note even before the door he went trough had closed._

_– D'you know why? – He asked, rubbing his red and burning eyes._

_– No idea. – He shrugged._

_He entered the studio where a new band was recording and found his boss silently sitting in the other room, his eyes shining with excitement to see the new kids singing and playing. But the glow was gone to see Gerard standing beside him, messy hair and red eyes. He sensed what was coming next, but it didn't make him any less shocked when his boss apologized and said that they would have to "let him go". He understood it, though. Gerard spent more time in hospital during recent months than working and seemed worse than before every time he'd returned. He knew that sooner or later it would happen. It just didn't need to be that day._

_He left the store furious with himself, watching his life fall apart all at once, and he couldn't do anything to stop it. Gerard got into the car again and went through the streets of Jersey aimlessly, wishing the ground would open and swallow him at some point. But sanity spoke louder and he parked, not knowing the slightest idea where he was, and leaned his forehead on the steering wheel and let the tears speak for him. He stood there for a long time. Or maybe a few minutes, couldn't tell. Then Gerard got out of the car and entered the first bar he found. And he stayed there until it was closed and a poor unknown man saved him from entering into an alcoholic coma. _

**[/ Flashback off]**

.

– Hey, are you listening? – The boy caught his attention as he passed some kind of makeup remover on his face, exposing his even more delicate and childlike traits.

– Sorry, no… – Gerard answered.

– I said that your car keys are beside the bed. Do you remember where you parked? – The boy repeated.

– Somewhere near the bar. – Gerard answered. – That I don't remember where it is, by the way.

– I wondered. – He smiled, still looking in the mirror before turning to him. – I have to go back there in two hours, if you want to wait. I can make a "breakfast" for us.

Gerard didn't have any reason to leave. Chester wouldn't be home when he returned, which made his heart tighten. He no longer had to worry about employment. So he just nodded to the little boy, still removing the old makeup from his face. Gerard observed the room they were in. The "cottage" he saw last night, actually was almost a mansion. The room was huge. Above the bed, which was paired with two nightstands, white and light blue minimalist, he saw one of his favorite quotes of Leonardo Da Vinci, glued on the white wall: "Simplicity is the greatest sophistication".

Beside three wall brackets, also divided into white and light blue, were three guitars. The first was a red Lyon, a Les Paul that imitated wood following it, and finally a limited edition Epiphone that Gerard remembered almost having sold a kidney on the black market to buy, even though he didn't know how to play, just for the beauty of instrument. He wondered how a boy of twenty-something who worked in a bar dressed as a pirate could have money for such instruments and was caught in the act, obsessed with the Epiphone that he couldn't stop staring at.

– That is the Pansy. – The boy smiled, drawing attention and causing the redhead to blush violently.

– How did you get one of these? – He asked, sounding more excited than he should. – I almost sold my house to buy one.

– When you have too much money and nothing to do with it, you just turn in to an old collector. I decided to collect instruments. – He laughed, opening two baby blue doors on the wall behind him, revealing a huge wardrobe.

– I don't understand… – Confusion nearly brought his headache back. – If you have that much money, why do you work in a bar dressed as a pirate?

– Because the owner lets me play there every Friday, when the bar gets fuller. This is my bonus. – His voice could barely be heard outside the wardrobe, since he was lost inside.

– But you could pay a studio to make a demo or something. – He said.

The smaller pointed his head at the door, smiling at him.

– You understand music. – His smile widened even more, as if that were possible.

– I work with it for five years. – He paused. – At least until yesterday…

– Hey, – Began the shorter man. – Take a bath while I look for something that fits you here. The bathroom is just across the first door; you can get clean towels on top of the sink cabinet and use whatever you want. Then we can have coffee and talk about it.

Gerard obeyed automatically. He walked through the door, finding the bathroom and locking himself inside. The place was also huge and the room even had a hot tub in the corner. He removed his clothes and folded them methodically, a thing he got from his mother, putting them on top of one of the huge sink cabinets. He took one of the several thick towels, hanging in the shower – which, by the way, was not the same one the other bathed him last night – and switched it on. A few seconds to understand how the temperature worked and he was practically singing under water while rubbing his body with a soap that filled the whole room with its smell.

When he left the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and the pile of clothes in his hands, the other man left a door down the hall, also wrapped in a towel, his hair dripping on his face and the tattoos on his arms, almost glowing. They came together in the room where the kid gave him clean clothes and closed himself in the huge closet to give him privacy. Gerard dressed quickly, looking for a comb, because his hair looked more like a nest created by a designer than a real hair.

The smallest knocked twice on the door of the closet, warning that he would enter the room and came out dressed almost like Gerard. Dark jeans, a mid-cut all star and a _Smashing Pumpkins_ shirt. The only differences were that Gerard was wearing boots, his shirt was from the _Beatles_, he still hadn't found the comb to straighten his hair, and didn't know where the clothes that fit him perfectly came from. But it didn't matter anyway, at least the smell of whiskey was gone and he felt like a normal person again. Or almost.

– Hungry? – The man asked, after handing Gerard the comb that he was looking for and making room for him to use the full length mirror inside the closet.

– Not much. – He lied. He was starving; he hadn't eaten anything since the fight began with Chester nights ago. – Just black coffee is fine.

The other laughed and asked silently to follow him after he finished tidying the rebel wires in his head. He opened a door down the hall, revealing a huge dining room with a glass table in the center filled with goodies. The smell of coffee reached Gerard and he felt he could eat the entire table, including the glass pieces. _Who had arranged that table if the two were in the bathroom?_ His question was answered almost immediately when the maid entered the room through a small door in the corner that he hadn't noticed, bringing the hot coffee that smelled so good. His belly growled loudly, making the shorter man laugh.

– Not much, huh?! – He smiled ironically. – You can rest, Lindsay. We'll take some time here.

– Yes, Sir. – She answered.

The woman left, but not before looking Gerard up and down, like an intruder. Or maybe she was thinking only of the amount of dishes she would have to wash after they ran out of food. It didn't matter. Gerard sat next to the pirate at the table and tried in every way to be polite but his hunger was greater than his manners.

– I hate it when they call me "Sir." – The man commented, completely ignoring the attack on the chocolate cake that Gerard made.

– They? – Gerard asked, wiping the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin that was placed beside his plate.

– My maids. – He said.

– How many are there, if you don't mind me asking?

– Five. This house isn't easy to clean by myself when I have parties. – He laughed.

– I need to ask you something embarrassing. – Gerard flinched a bit.

– Do it. – His eyes shone less.

– I don't remember your name. – He blushed.

– That's because I didn't tell you. – He smiled. – I'm Frank. Frank Iero.

Gerard gasped. It took two glasses of water and very deep breath to control himself. He was having coffee with _Frank Iero_. _How the hell hadn't he recognized him?_ He had the same juvenile expressions from ten years ago when his parents were brutally murdered by a serial killer who was never caught and his face was plastered on every newspaper in Jersey, the richest orphan in the planet, being the sole heir of the Iero Companies. And worst of all: one of the best friends of Ray, with whom he worked for five years almost every day and heard his story from all sides. No one ever forgot the attack that his family had suffered. Every year, Ray invited him to the Iero's memorial.

People said that Frank knew who had killed his parents, but never told anyone, not even the police, what he witnessed that night. The serial killer, self titled _Robin Hood_, killed in sequence almost all the wealthy families of the city, leaving behind the youngest heir with a single sentence: "_Make the world a better place with the money you will receive_". There were a total of fifteen families, if not mistaken, but only Frank was an only child between them. Each kid was forced to live in a workhouse, twenty-four hours supervised by a guardian and responsible for keeping their inheritance until they were old enough to manage them.

Frank was the youngest among fourteen others and watched many of them commit suicide shortly after a few years, leaving all the money they owned to the mismanaged government of the country. He even tried to kill himself once, but lost his nerve when he remembered what the guy who killed his parents before had said. He took his time to the study and music, leaving aside all the misfortunes that occurred to him and tried to get a new life when he left boarding school. He got a job, even though he didn't need the money, much less the humiliation of dressing up as a pirate. Frank began collecting and learning different musical instruments and tried to sing, despite not being very good in that area. He assembled a band with some friends left over from his bourgeois childhood and played every friday at a little bar at the end of the world, just for the pleasure of playing.

He also was known to follow the rule that he had been ordered. Every year he makes exorbitant donations to charities, for children, the elderly or animals. His name made newspapers occasionally, although he hated that kind of publicity. In an interview he once said that he didn't do it for fear of the murderer coming back or for having money to spend. He had the pleasure of seeing a smile on the face of the children he helped to clothe and feed, the elderly who had enough nurses to care for them and the happiness of abandoned animals who were well fed. He just wanted to make the world a better place with what he could. But beyond that, he lived in hiding, hiding from the paparazzi and harassment of the media about who he placed in the direction of Iero Companies.

– That's why I didn't tell you my name. – He smiled crookedly. – You probably know more about me than I can even remember.

– Nah… – Gerard was incapable of forming words properly.

– Oh, come on, don't be shy. – He said. – I appeared in the newspapers a few times and my family was murdered in front of me. – He spoke naturally, as if he was talking about how a pigeon smeared his shirt while walking around. – But we spent a wonderful evening together, even if you don't remember.

– I remember… – He blushed. – I remember quite well.


End file.
